Introduction

I’m a 36-year-old first-time mum, and I have a confession to make. I hate being a parent. I do love my two-year-old Little Ram, but even that took a while to develop. It certainly didn’t descend on me at the moment of birth like most people describe, with joyous abandon and a feeling of completeness. I listen to those accounts and they seem artificial, with their angels-descending and bursting rainbows flavour. Following the birth of my son, I was bewildered and confused. I had an unplanned caesarean, so I hadn’t gone through the regular birth process, which was a huge blow to me. One minute I wasn’t a mum, and the next I was, and I hadn’t done anything to make that happen. It just was. My son was whisked away for some specialist care so I went back to the room without him, alone, unable to feel my legs or move, but I was a mum. Becoming a mum without the associated drama of birth was surreal. I couldn’t process it properly. When they gave him to me, it was just a little creature that I was supposed to look after for the rest of my life. He had done nothing but suck the life out of me for the past nine months. Exactly how was I supposed to feel love for this alien being?

In hindsight, it turns out that I had undiagnosed antenatal depression long before the birth. However, I didn’t know that at the time. I was worried about my lack of connection to my baby, but I thought it would just happen very soon. Everyone loves their child, right? Isn’t it innate?

We had huge problems with Little Ram. He had terrible reflux and refused to breastfeed. I refused to give up on breastfeeding, so we were quickly at a stalemate. When I would try to put him on the breast, he would scream. Just scream. I got angry, he got more upset, and we would both be crying. I am usually a very calm person, but sometimes I would shake with anger. He had to breastfeed. I’m a scientist, I know the stats on the benefits of breastfeeding. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Then there was his reflux. I didn’t realise that reflux could be so serious. Our routine, if you could call it that, was hellish. I would try to feed him for an hour, then he would spend the next hour vomiting. It would take another hour to settle him. Then the whole thing would begin again, so he never slept. Within a fortnight, I was a wreck. That level of sleeplessness will always lead to big problems.

My partner, Lion, works away, so I was on my own from very early on in my son’s life. Since I wasn’t coping, I asked him to come home. I was desperate. But things didn’t get any better. After a teary admission to my Child Health Nurse that I was suicidal, I was admitted to the Mother and Baby Unit. This service is a small facility where women with psychiatric disorders go following the birth of their baby (chiefly depression, but it is open to mothers with other disorders too). You take your baby with you, and there are nurses on hand at all times to help you with mothercrafting. Without this service, I would probably not be here today.

Two years later, I had a good relationship with my son. I am fascinated with watching him learn new things and his mimicry of all my conversations and actions. He is adorably cuddly and affectionate. But it has taken a long time and a lot of support for me to get to this place. I want to share with you the ups and downs of raising a child when you’ve gone through Perinatal Depression or PND. I have good days, and I have bad days, just like everyone else who has been through a similar experience.

Let’s join together in discussing the difficulties and triumphs of motherhood. There are more of us than you think.

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